


Conversation

by storyspinner70



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Stanford Era, Wincest - Freeform, Wincest Writing Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 16:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyspinner70/pseuds/storyspinner70
Summary: My prompt for this round was a line from one of my favorite Richard Siken poems. I didn't know of him until I read several pieces on how closely Crush and Supernatural exist in the world. After reading Crush, I thought there were so many lines that matched the boys, but one of my fave sections has always been the one my quote prompt comes from. I couldn't be more thrilled about that (and yes, I totally Chandler Binged that BE).Thanks so much to the people running this challenge who gave me this prompt!Summary: Dean walked into a book store alone but didn't leave that way.Now with podfic by the amazing BabelGhoti! Go listen and give her love!





	Conversation

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[podfic] Conversation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215165) by [BabelGhoti (TheHandmadeTale)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHandmadeTale/pseuds/BabelGhoti). 



Wincest Writing Challenge: (September - Richard Siken Quotes) | [@cilophyte](http://cilophyte.tumblr.com/) vs. [@storyspinner70](http://storyspinner70.tumblr.com/)  
Prompt: "You will want to get inside him, and ruin him, but he doesn't listen."  
Rating: Mature | Wordcount: 613 | 

Warnings for wincest, Stanford era

 

There was a book once. Picked up at random and never really put down again. Richard someone who seemed to be writing poems about Dean’s life. This book never left him. Not really. It just settled into the sway of his gut to live, breathing its life into him when he couldn’t breathe for himself anymore.

And he walked into this shop looking for someone he wanted to breathe for then he heard him, plain as day. The boy stopped when he noticed, the sweetest smile splitting his face before he looked down again. Sam. He could see Sam’s friends looking – curious who that smile was for. He stared back, staking claim to that smile from now until the world sputtered out.

Sam started again, “ _The stranger says there are no more couches and he will have to sleep in your bed. You try to warn him..._ ” He stopped Sam, his hand wrapped around the precious throat he had no right to touch but was going to anyway.

He leaned into Sam’s back, voice low, “ _You try to warn him, you tell him you will want to get inside him, and ruin him, but he doesn’t listen. You do this. You do. You take the things you love and tear them apart or you pin them down with your body and pretend they’re yours._ ”

Sam’s throat vibrated under fingers coated in filth and death and love, “S _o, you kiss him, and he doesn’t move, he doesn’t pull away, and you keep on kissing him._ ”

He squeezes Sam’s throat, blocking the next words – words that are his to say. “ _And he hasn’t moved, he’s frozen, and you’ve kissed him, and he’ll never forgive you, and maybe now he’ll leave you alone._ ”

And it was true. Every word. Dean wanted to crawl into Sam’s pelvis and stay, one hand wrapped around Sam’s ribs and the other grasping Sam’s heart, his blood all mixed up with Dean’s, his lungs expanding and contracting when Dean told them to. _In._ Out. _In._ Out. The air Sam breathed filtered through Dean’s mouth first.

And you did kiss him. Kissed him until you stopped breathing, stopped being. And he left you alone. He said it was college not you, but you didn’t believe him anymore than he believed it would take you this long to come after him.

You came. He smiled when you did.

But.

Your eyes flick to the book in his grip. There are poems about green eyed boys who wear their animal on the outside. Boys you want to drive into like a brick wall at high speeds. Beautiful boys you want to want you. Beautiful boys with beautiful mouths you’d happily kill yourself in.

But.

There are no poems about what to do when that greed eyed boy owned the title brother.

Dean melted away, his fingers falling off Sam’s throat, his body rising, straightening, building walls already. Sam erupted, pages flying and he stood, a wall of his own. And Dean knew. He walked away now and he’d never see Sam again. He lifted his foot – to run just like always.

But right there, lost in the hazel command of Sam’s eyes, he stayed. He was done running. Done pretending that he didn’t want to wrap Sam up so tight they would never be two people again. It had nearly killed him to cleave them into two people to begin with.

“We won’t survive this.”

“Not like we are now,” Sam agrees. “ _But damn if there isn’t anything sexier than a slender boy with a handgun, a fast car..._ ”

*

There was a book once. Picked up at random and never put down again.


End file.
